


It's A Long Road to Walk Alone

by wincechesters



Series: It's A Long Road to Walk Alone [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern Day AU for Prompts in Panem AU Week, Day 5. Peeta Mellark is walking home from the bar when he hears a woman's scream. He runs to her rescue, only to discover that she is none other than Katniss Everdeen, the woman he's been in love with all through his school years, and she's got almost nothing left to live for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Long Road to Walk Alone

I suppress a shiver and stuff my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket. Should’ve brought gloves, I think. Or better yet, should’ve called a cab. I can see my breath, for Christ’s sake. Teach me to try to walk home in the middle of the night in October. Not that it was my fault; I hadn’t even wanted to go out with the guys tonight. I have to open the bakery tomorrow and I had a feeling I’d be feeling the late night and those few beers. 5 am comes mighty early.

Suck it up, Mellark. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my frozen ears. It’s not so bad, really. I glance up at the night sky, hoping for a glimpse of the stars, but the city lights are just too bright, as always.

A shrill scream breaks through the night- a woman’s voice. It’s not a normal sound of distress, but a feral, animal scream like that of an angry wildcat. Nevertheless, I find myself running towards the sound before I can decide what to do about it.

I round the corner into a darkened alley between two buildings and what I see makes me stop dead in my tracks. Two huge men have cornered a woman. She is fighting back with the ferocity of a wild animal, lashing out with fists and feet, but she is tiny and it is clear that they are close to overpowering her. She is fast, but they are strong and they are angry.

“HEY!” I shout, leaping forward into the fray. I tackle the first man, catching him in the middle of his back and throw him to the ground. He tries to get up but I smash my fist into his jaw and he stops struggling. The other man seizes me from behind, but it’s almost laughable how easily I break his grasp. Years of being top of the school wrestling team once my brother left the school have left their mark.

I spin around and punch him low in the stomach. His breath goes out with a whoosh, and my next swing connects square with his nose. He staggers backwards against a dumpster, trying to stem the gush of blood from his nose.

 

“Get the fuck out of here!” I shout, taking another step towards him. He turns and stumbles off as fast as he can on unsteady legs and I clench my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to race after him and beat him into an incoherent, senseless pulp. His friend is still lying on the ground; he is breathing but I don’t think he’ll be getting up anytime soon. Breathing hard myself, I turn around to make sure their victim is okay.

She’s watching me with wary, guarded eyes. In the dim light from the street lamps on the other street, I can see that there’s a bruise blooming around her left eye, and there is blood on her lip and below her nose. Her shirt is torn; it is clear what they had intended. Her hair has come loose from her braid from when one of her assailants tried to grab her and is tangled and wild around her fine boned face.

Her braid…. Olive skin leached sallow by the street lamp and darkened by the blood on her face… and those eyes, even now staring back at me with defiance. I know this woman. I know her well.

It’s Katniss Everdeen. And she is beautiful.

As beautiful now, dressed in soiled and torn clothes, hair disheveled and face stained with blood, as when I last saw her at our high school graduation several years back. Then, she had been in a pretty dress with her hair pinned up and makeup artfully done (by someone else, I suspected, perhaps her sister Prim). And just like then, as I am every time I see her, I am a goner.

“Katniss,” I say, “It’s me, Peeta Mellark. Do you remember me?”

She glares at me from where she is leaning heavily up against the wall. “Of course I do.” Her voice is raw from screaming.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I kick myself mentally. What a stupid question.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. But as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she sags a little, slipping down the wall and struggling to remain proudly upright. I can see the color draining from her face.

Without thinking, I bend and scoop her up before she can fall. In hind sight, this was maybe not the best idea, considering what just happened to her and the fact that the look in her eyes says that she’s not entirely sure she shouldn’t bite me. As it is, she stiffens but doesn’t struggle. I doubt that she even weighs as much as one of the sacks of flour in the bakery.

“I should take you to the emergency room,” I say, “and we should call the cops.”

“No!” Her response is instantaneous and fervent. “I’m fine. No hospitals. No cops.”

“But you could have internal injuries,” I protest, “broken bones… and you’re definitely going to go into shock soon.”

“No, I’m fine. It’s not bad, nothing broken. Just some bruises and some blood. My face is the worst.”

I’m still not sure. “Should I take you home? Your parents…”

“NO!” she starts to struggle now, but she is pitifully weak. “Put me down! I can walk! I don’t need your help!” But I refuse to put her down when it’s clear that her adrenaline rush is wearing off and she won’t have the strength to stand on her own.

It’s my turn to argue. “No. There’s no way I’m letting you go. Let me at least get you cleaned up and get you something to eat.” I can feel her bones beneath her thin clothes and she’s starting to shiver. It occurs to me that her weakness is likely due to lack of nourishment, rather than injury. She is alarmingly thin. I wonder what happened to make the strong, healthy girl I remember into this tiny, broken waif of a woman.

I don’t know why she should trust me, but she does. Maybe because we knew each other from school, although we hadn’t even said two words to each other. Maybe she doesn’t have any other choice.

I want to flag down a cab but she protests that she doesn’t want anyone to see her in this state, and I agree, knowing that the blood and her weakness will cause questions. It’s just a short distance to my apartment so I carry her down the quiet side streets. It’s really frightening how easy it is to carry her. Years of working in my family’s old fashioned bakery down town have made me strong, but it would still have been a challenge to carry her the distance, if not for the fact that she is very light. Too light.

When we get to my apartment, she leans heavily against the door frame while I unlock the door, but I keep one arm around her waist to steady her as I do so. It is scary how tiny her waist is; I bet I could almost wrap all the way around it with just my two hands.

I carry her into the apartment, kicking the door shut with my foot, and set her down on the couch. She is actively shivering now, whether from the cold or shock, I don’t know. I grab the blanket off the back of the couch and tuck it as snugly around her as I can. I go to the bedroom and pull out my warmest sweatshirt; it’ll be too big for her but at least it’ll be clean and dry and warm.

Back in the living room, I hand it to her. As she takes it wordlessly, I see blood under her fingernails. “You sure put up a fight,” I say.

She doesn’t answer but her eyes snap up to glare at me suspiciously as if trying to decide if I’m making fun of her. “Put that on,” I say, pointing to the sweater and then turning to the kitchen, “and I’ll get some water and a wash cloth so you can clean up.

I fill a pot with warm water and grab a cloth, and as an afterthought, a loaf of today’s bread off the counter.

When I return to the living room, I can see that she’s changed into my sweatshirt and has the blanket draped over her legs. Her own filthy shirt and torn jeans are draped over the arm of the couch. My shirt is much too big for her and her hands are pulled up inside the sleeves like a child. Her eyes are big as she watches me come back in to the room. I try not to think about what she’s wearing underneath- which is to say, almost nothing.

She washes her hands in the pot, letting out an involuntary sigh of pleasure as her fingers begin to warm. She cleans the blood and grime from her long, bony hands and dries them on the towel I hand her. Her eyes go to the bread and I know she must be starving.

“Go ahead,” I say, pushing the loaf into her hands. “Sorry if it’s not warm anymore, but it is fresh. I baked it today.”

“At your dad’s bakery?” she asks. “You still work there?”

I didn’t even know she knew that. “Yep. I usually have Saturdays off but they were busy today and called me in. Eat!”

She hesitates but then begins to tear pieces off with her hands, and before long she is eating ravenously, as if she can’t help it. She stops partway through, though.

“It’s okay, you can eat it all. I’ve got lots,” I assure her.

She smiles a little sheepishly. “I can’t.” She puts a hand to her stomach. “I want to but I’m full.” She must not have had a proper meal for a long time, to have shrunken her stomach so much. I take the loaf from her and put it on the table beside the couch.

“Well, I’ll leave it here in case you get hungry again in the night. And there’s tons more food in the fridge if you need anything else. Help yourself.”

“Why are you helping me?” she asks suddenly.

I blink at her, startled. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” I answer. “I couldn’t let them hurt you.” And for one other reason, of course. But I don’t tell her that. “Why were you out there by yourself at night, anyway?”

She shakes her head and I drop it. I guess it’s none of my business anyway. But she is still watching me, her grey eyes locked on my blue ones.

Caught in that steady gaze, I can feel my heart pounding harder and harder in my ears. She is so close to me, so broken and yet still so fierce. All I want to do is touch her.

I reach out and take the cloth from the water and wring it out. I raise it up to her face and start to clean the blood that has dripped from her split lip down her chin.

Instinctively, she jerks her head back, eyes wide and angry. “Sorry,” I say, embarrassed, wondering what on earth made me think she might allow me to wash her. I hold out the cloth to her. “I’ll let you do it.”

Slowly, still not taking her eyes from mine, she shakes her head. “It’s okay,” she says. “You can.” She scoots over until she can lay down, curled into a tiny ball and resting her head on the arm of the couch.

Gently, I clean the blood from her face with the cloth, dabbing first at her chin and then below her nose. Then I start at her hairline, smoothing away the layer of grime, being careful of the left side where an impressive black eye is blooming. At first, she watches me, unmoving, but eventually her eyelids begin to droop. By the time I’m finished, she is fast asleep.

I pull the blanket up around her. She looks so beautiful and peaceful in sleep that I can’t help it- I reach out and gently touch the too prominent curve of her cheekbone with one finger.

Then I go to my bedroom and spend a sleepless night staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about the girl I’ve loved since I saw her sing in music class when we were kids, asleep on my couch wearing nothing but my sweatshirt.

* *

My alarm, beeping obnoxiously from my bedside table jolts me from a very pleasant dream starring a happier, healthier Katniss, who had been wearing even less clothes than she had on last night. The reality is much less enticing. I groan, flipping the switch on the clock and pressing my fists into my dry, puffy eyes before climbing reluctantly out of bed.

I shower and dress as quietly as I can, but despite my efforts, she’s awake when I go to leave. She doesn’t say anything when I hand her a muffin from the kitchen.

“Sorry to wake you, but I have to go to the bakery,” I say apologetically.

“It’s okay,” she says. Her voice is still husky from sleep, unintentionally seductive. I’m still wound up from my dream and I can feel myself stirring. Embarrassed, my eyes flit away from hers.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” I say, not looking at her, “but you‘re welcome, as long as you need, okay?”

I go to the door without waiting for her answer and pull on my jacket. I‘m hoping she will decide to stay, but think that she will most likely won’t. I give her one last smile so that she knows I won’t be mad if she does go and point at the muffin in her hand. “Eat!” I say cheerfully and then I turn and go.

But when I get home that night, she is still there, sitting on the couch as if she hasn’t moved all day. But she has; her hair has been washed and braided back wet, and her skin is pink as if she’s been scrubbing it clean. She’s wearing a t-shirt of mine and has pulled on a pair of my sweatpants which are far too big for her.

“Hi.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

She smiles back shyly. “Hi.” She pulls at the hem of the shirt when she sees me looking and says “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I answer. I am absurdly happy that she is still here, and I love that she’s wearing my clothes. But I don’t say that. Instead I say, “I really thought that you’d have taken off as soon as I left.”

She bites her lip and looks down, and for a moment, she looks so vulnerable that I’m aching to hold her. I have to stop myself from crossing the room and taking her in my arms.

Then she says softly, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

**

That night, I try to get her to move into my bedroom and tell her that I‘ll sleep on the couch, but she refuses. I think she doesn’t want to feel like she is putting me out even more. I let it drop, and instead, I rig a sheet so that she has some privacy around the couch. I secretly decide to buy a futon to replace the couch; she won’t like it but I’ll make up some story about needing to replace it anyway. Damned if I’m going to let her sleep forever on a couch, and at least if she won’t take the bed, this way she can be a bit more comfortable.

We say goodnight awkwardly and I go to my room. Climbing into bed, I closed my eyes and try to sleep, but the image of Katniss Everdeen in my sweatpants keeps dancing around behind my eyelids. I finally fall into a restless sleep sometime after midnight.

But not for long. For the second time in two nights, the silence is broken by Katniss’ scream.

I get tangled up in my sheet and trip headlong into the hallway in my haste to reach her. I crash into the living room to see Katniss lying on the couch, crying out and flailing in her sleep.

“Katniss! Katniss, wake up!” I grabbed her hands to avoid getting hit and gave her a little shake. Her eyes snapped open sudddenly. Her first instinct is fear; she lurches away from me and tries to free her wrists but I just hold on tighter. Gradually she comes to and stops struggling, and her breathing starts to slow.

“Peeta?” she asks tentatively.

“Yes, Katniss, it’s me. Shhhh, you’re safe.” Slowly, instinctively, I reach around her and take her in my arms, holding her tight against my chest. “You had a nightmare, that’s all.” I can feel her body shaking like a leaf within the circle of my arms.

“You’re okay, you’re fine,” I murmur. She leans into me, trying to slow her breathing. I rub her back soothingly with one hand and stroke her hair with the other. I can feel her breath on my neck and I supress a shiver. Her hair smells like my shampoo. Easy, Mellark, I think to myself, taking a steadying breath myself.

I can feel it when she’s recovered because she stiffens and pulls away from me. I release her immediately.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

She nods.”Yeah I’m fine now.”

“Some nightmare,” I say. I wait to see if she will offer an explanation.

She seems to understand but she hesitates, her eyes unsure. “It’s okay, I say quickly. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Peeta,” she says slowly, “I’ve seen some pretty scary shit these past couple years.”

I wonder again why she was out on the street last night, but I don’t ask, I just reach out instinctively and take her hand in mine. She’s startled but lets me hold it. I smile at her and she smiles tentatively back.

“Well, I guess I better head back to bed; I have class tomorrow. Are you sure that you don’t want to take the bed?”

She scowls and it’s just as cute as her smile. She points to the hall. “Get out of here, Mellark.”

I laugh, but stand up and head to bed again. “Goodnight again, Katniss!” I call over my shoulder to her.

“‘Night, Peeta.”

Back in my bed again, I wonder what kind of awful things she’s seen. They must have been truly horrifying, to cause that kind of nightmare.

I’m just starting to drift off to sleep when my door creaks open, waking me, and Katniss pads into the room on silent feet. She looks at me uncomfortably, playing with the hem of her t-shirt. I prop myself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong? Do you need something?” I start climbing out of bed but she stops me.

“No, it’s not that…” she fidgets and then says, “every time I close my eyes, I can see… things. The nightmares.”

“What do you need?” I ask.

She bites her bottom lip. It’s not sensual; she looks like a little child, innocent and vulnerable. My chest feels tight as I look at her, and my arms actually make an involuntary movement as if to embrace her.

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” she asks.

“Of course!” I’d offered, hadn’t I? I start to climb out again but she puts her hand on my chest, stopping me. I look up at her and she drops her hand back to her side.

“No, I mean- can I sleep in here with you?”

It takes a moment to sink in, and when the realization hits I feel the blood rush to my face, and… elsewhere. I swallow hard, hoping she doesn’t notice, but I slide over to the other side of the bed, flipping back the covers for her. I pat the bed beside me with a smile. “I promise I won’t try anything.”

“Ha, ha,” she says sarcastically, getting into bed and pulling the covers up. She faces away from me, and I can see the curve of her hip beneath the covers. Holy shit. Katniss Everdeen is in my bed, and suddenly it’s much harder to keep my promise.

I roll the other way so we are back to back, each of us as far away from the other as the bed will allow.

I don’t sleep a wink that night.

**

The next night, she tries to sleep on the couch again but she wakes up screaming in the middle of the night once more, and sneaks in with me. In fact, every night that week she goes to bed on the couch, but wakes up in the morning in my bed.

On Friday night, she doesn’t even bother to try to sleep on the couch. And maybe it helps a little because she doesn’t wake up screaming and flailing.

Instead, she wakes up crying.

“Katniss?” I sit up on one elbow. “Katniss, what’s wrong?”

I feel, rather than see her shake her head. I stare at the back of her head for a minute, and then I sigh. “I wish you would talk to me Katniss. I’m a good listener, I promise.”

“Peeta, you may be a good listener, but I’m not a good talker.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t… I’m not ready to…” she trails off, sniffling.

I don’t know what to do, what I can possibly say to make her feel better. So instead I act on instinct and reach out to gather her up, pulling her into my chest and wrapping myself around her. She is so broken that she actually lets me, and I don’t try to talk anymore, I just hold her and stroke her hair until she falls back to sleep.

And that’s how we wake up in the morning. Spooning.

She is tucked up with her back against my chest; her hips nestled back against mine. She is awake, trapped under my arms, and it looks like she is inspecting the hair on my arms, but that can’t be right. In any case, it is becoming increasingly obvious that I am a little… excited by how she’s pressed up against me.

I shift my pelvis away uncomfortably and lift my right arm so she’s no longer imprisoned. I cough. “Er, good morning.”

“‘Morning Peeta,” she says softly. For a moment she doesn’t move, just keeps lying there against me, but then she cranes her neck to look at me. The look in her eyes is not helping the situation going on below my waist.

Then - thank God - she gets up.

Over breakfast, I ask her, “So, do you want to go somewhere today?”

She shoots me a startled look over her coffee. “Like where?”

“Anywhere you want. I just thought that maybe you could use some fun. We could get coffee,” she looks pointedly at the cup nestled between both her hands and I smirk, “buy some groceries… maybe if we’re feeling really crazy, we can even get you some clothes that fit.”

“Peeta,” she says, “I don’t have any money.”

Considering I brought her here with nothing but the clothes on her back, this doesn’t surprise me. “That’s okay,” I say, waving my hand as I start to clear the dishes. “I’ll spot you.”

She grabs my wrist in her hand and her fingers are surprisingly strong. “I’m not your charity case, Peeta,” she says angrily.

“I know that. You’re nobody’s charity case.” I pry her fingers off my wrist and pick up her coffee cup. “I’ll add it to your rent. Keep an eye out, I’ll be sending you my bill.”

She scowls. I think I may even like it more than her smile. I can feel my own smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Fine.” she says. “When I get a job, I’ll pay you back.”

I nod. “I know you will. Speaking of which, I talked to my dad the other day and he said he has a job opening at the bakery, if you’re interested.”

I can tell she doesn’t like the idea of me doing any more to help her, so I say “You’d be doing him a huge favour, we’re swamped over there. We need someone to work the register part time.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Good enough. So, what do you want to do today?”

She looks troubled. “I don’t know.”

“Well, what kind of things do you like to do, for fun?”

The scowl is back. “I don’t remember. It’s been a long time since I had any fun.”

So we just walk. I take her down town, which is just a short walk from our- my- apartment. I extend my hand and she takes it after a short hesitation and we walk hand and hand down the road, looking at all the shops, both eclectic and fashionable. Her hand is tiny and soft and warm, and it feels good in mine.

I feel her stop and turn to look at her. She is staring at the sign above the store beside us. It looks like a music store.

“Katniss?”

She takes a breath, then says “My dad used to bring me here, I think. Before.”

“Do you want to go in?” I ask gently.

She hesitates, then nods.

The door of the shop chimes when I pull it open. Katniss’ eyes are like saucers as she gazes around at all the instruments.

As if in a trance, she goes over to the wall where guitars are resting on racks. She selects one, an acoustic, and pulls it down. She runs her hands over the smooth wood, and slowly sinks down to sit crosslegged on the floor. Then, ever so slowly, she starts to pluck the strings. It’s not a tune so much as a reunion, like a greeting between old friends.

It seems like a private moment that I am intruding on, an unwelcome guest. I turn and wander up and down the aisles while she fiddles with the guitar. But then… then I hear her start to sing, strumming the guitar softly in accompaniment.

I can’t help it; I’m transfixed, staring at her as that beautiful voice that won me over even as a little boy rings out through the little shop. I must be gaping like a fish but I don’t care.

When she stops playing she looks up and meets my eyes. Hers are glassy with tears but behind the tears there is something - something like fire - that sets my heart pounding in my ears.

We walk home hand in hand again. We stop for groceries and to buy some clothes for Katniss. I am going to miss seeing her in my t-shirts and baggy pants.

When we arrive home, I sit down at the table to start working on my drawing for class, and she makes dinner this time, lamb stew with dried plums on rice. It is delicious and I tell her so. She smiles and tells me that her father used to make it before he died. It is her favourite too.

This is such a rare glimpse into the mysteries of her life that I want to ask her more about what happened, but I know she would be uncomfortable talking about it. I let it go.

She flips through my sketch book while I do the dishes (she wanted to help, but I refused). I watch her out of the corner of my eye, taking in her expressions. “Peeta, these are beautiful,” she says softly. “You’re very talented.”

I shrug. “It’s nothing like your singing. I could listen to you singing all day.”

“It’s been a long time since I sang,” she says. She meets my eyes from across the room and and she looks almost puzzled. “I guess I felt… happy.” I feel warmth rush through me at her words and I can’t help but smile.

I finish the dishes and we catch the end of some stupid movie on TV. I catch her yawning and I suggest we go to bed.

As we climb into bed, something between us feels different. There is a sort of charge in the air, like electricity or magnetism. Tonight, she lies down facing me, a few inches closer to the centre of the bed. I reach over her to flick off the light on her side of the bed and I can hear her breath catch in her throat as I move above her.

I flop back over to my side of the bed, grinning. “You just keep your hands to yourself now, woman.”

I can’t see her in the dark but I’d be willing to bet that she rolls her eyes. “Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

A few moments later she says again, “Peeta?”

“Mmm?’

“Thank you. For today.”

I smile. “You’re welcome, Katniss.”

I feel her reach out with her hand into the centre of the bed and I enfold it in mine, and I swear that I fall asleep with a smile on my face, still holding her hand.

* * 

Boom, boom, boom. I shoot bolt upright in bed. Katniss, who was moments before sleeping soundly beside me, is on her feet before I can process what’s going on. We exchange a look. Someone is banging on my door at – I take a quick peek at the clock – 1:43 in the morning. “I’ll check,” she says, moving towards the hall. I stumble out of bed after her, banging my knee on my dresser on the way out the door.

Cursing, I make my way to the living room, just in time to see Katniss unlock the door.

It springs open, catching her in the face. She falls backwards, and a greasy, stringy man steps into the room.

“Where’s my fucking money, bitch?!”

What?!

She tries to stand and he backhands her across the face. “Your fucking mother ain’t paid me and when I went by the place she wasn’t there.” He reaches out a dirty hand and grabs her by the hair. She lets out a strangled sound somewhere between a growl and a cry of pain as he yanks her to her feet. She tries to kick him but he manages to dodge her, giving another hard yank on her hair. She glares right into his eyes spits in his face.

He wipes his face slowly, and then punches her, right in the stomach. “WHERE’S MY MONEY, CUNT?!” he screams, his face only inches from hers.

That’s about fucking enough of that! I turn and run back into the bedroom, and when I come back, there’s a baseball bat in my hand.

I bring the bat down across the man’s back and he screams, releasing his hold on Katniss’ hair. She scrambles out of the way as I hit him again, this time in the stomach.

He falls and I hit him again, and again, until he is moaning piteously on the ground in a snivelling heap of blood and spittle. I pick him up by the scruff of the neck like the dog he is and throw him back out into the hall.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, but this is my house,” I say to him, my voice low and trembling with the force of my anger, “and no one touches Katniss Everdeen in my. Fucking. House.”

“My money, she owes me money…” he moans piteously.

I look down at him like he’s shit off the bottom of my shoe. “I don’t fucking care what she owes you. If you come back here, if you ever touch her again, I’ll fucking kill you. Now get the fuck out of my hallway before I decide to finish the job now.”

He gets shakily to his feet, using the wall for support. Not waiting to see if he makes it up, I slam the door and shoot the dead bolt, then the chain, dropping the bat and turning hurriedly to check if Katniss is okay.

Apparently she’s fine, because as soon as I turn around she is leaping into my arms. Instinctively, I catch her, lifting her up, as her lips crash into mine. Her arms go around my neck and her long legs twine around my hips as I clutch her to me like a lifeline, a low moan breaking through my lips.

I break away, breathing hard, to look her sternly in the eye. “Next, time, use the goddamn peep-hole, young lady!”

She laughs and rolls her eyes at the same time, which only makes me want her more. “Shut up and kiss me, Peeta,” she says and brings her lips back to mine.

I am hard as a fucking rock and all I want to do is take her, right here on the floor of my living room and I can tell that she wants it too, but I can taste her blood in my mouth, mingling with the salty tears that are now sliding down her cheeks.

I take a deep, steadying breath. “Katniss, stop.” She moves her mouth to my neck and starts trailing tingling kisses down it and I have to stifle a groan. “Katniss…”

She slows and finally stops and pulls back to look at me. When her eyes meet mine, she breaks down completely. I tuck her head into the crook of my neck and stroke her hair gently, carrying her over to the couch and sitting down with her still wrapped around me.

“Katniss, you have to tell me what this is all about. If I’m going to have people showing up at my apartment in the middle of the night and trying to beat you up, you have to tell me what I’ve gotten myself into.”

She raises her head and looks into my eyes. “Do you want me to go?” she asks in a small voice.

“No! God, no!” I say earnestly. “I want you here as long as you want to be here. I just… I just need to know what to expect.” I give the end of her braid a little tug. “I mean, do I need to replace my bat with a shotgun and take Taekwondo or something?”

She laughs wetly in spite of herself. “Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I’ll tell you.” She tries to get up but I don’t let go, just settle her more comfortably in my lap. She doesn’t look at me as she starts to speak.

“About two years after we graduated, there was an accident. My father went out to pick Prim up from a friend’s house that night, and by the time they started home it was raining hard. The police said his car hydroplaned right into oncoming traffic.” She closes her eyes and swallows, then continues thickly, “They had a head on with a semi, and my dad and Prim-“

She gasps in pain, fresh tears springing to her eyes, one arm wrapping tightly around her stomach as if to hold herself together. I take her other hand and squeeze it hard to keep her anchored to the earth and she squeezes back.

I remember Prim, so sweet and beautiful and innocent. The world will be a darker place without her in it. I remember seeing Katniss and Prim together, how much they completed each other. How much they loved each other. They had a relationship that was much closer than the one I have with my brothers. They weren’t only sisters; they were best friends.

She composes herself with difficulty and continues. “After that it was just me and Mom, alone. Mom… she didn’t take it too well. I guess she loved Dad a lot. She couldn’t handle it. First she got depressed, but then she got into drugs. Bad ones.”

“I was so angry, Peeta.” Her hand squeezes mine tighter. “She just… stopped trying. I was trying so hard to keep us afloat. She wasn’t working, so we had no money for food. I tried to get a job but I couldn’t keep up with taking care of her and work, and then I was scared to leave her because strange men started coming by the apartment.”

“I couldn’t afford to pay for her drugs and for food so they started coming looking for money. I tried to tell one of them to go away and he beat me, bad. He… he kicked me out of my own house, Peeta, and my mother was so strung out that she just sat by and did nothing!”

My free hand clenches into a fist against my thigh. I’m so angry. How could her own mother abandon her like this? And poor Katniss had to shoulder the burden of looking after her mother and herself while having to deal with her own grief.

“I was living on the streets for a couple weeks by the time you found me,” she says softly. “Those men- they were some of the people my mom owed money to, and when they found out I didn’t have any, they decided to take their payment in… other ways. And the one tonight, someone must have followed us home today and told him where I was.”

She takes a shaky breath and covers her eyes with her free hand. “What am I going to do Peeta?”

I have no idea. “We’ll figure something out, I promise.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?”

“No Katniss,” I answer, and plant a little kiss on her shoulder. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

She lets go of my hand but only to put her arms around my neck and nestle her face against my chest like a child. “I miss Prim. And my Dad,” she says quietly.

My heart breaks. “I know, baby’” I whisper, gathering her up and kissing her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

We sit like this for what seems like an eternity. She is curled up inside the circle of my arms, so tiny, so fragile, and yet so strong. This incredible woman, who tried to support herself and her mother, who fought for her life like a wildcat, who, when life had tried so hard to put it out, is still filled with fire.

I can feel her breath on my neck as she looks up at me. I look down into her grey eyes and her tears have dried, and her sadness has been replaced by something else. My heart is thumping painfully in my chest and I can feel myself begin to stir again.

She closes her eyes and leans in to kiss my neck and her mouth is hot and wet. She sucks my earlobe into her mouth and I can’t stop the moan that escapes me. When I feel her teeth I gasp.

I am hard again, and she notices. She straddles my lap again, pushing me back against the arm of the couch, and grinds her hips up against mine.

“Katniss, are you sure you want to do this now?” I ask breathlessly. I curse myself inwardly: Jesus, Mellark, why do you keep trying to talk her out of having sex with you? But I have to be sure.

“Yes,” she says breathlessly. “You were the one who said I needed to have some fun. I’ve had a hard day, Mellark. And I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my name, let alone what’s happened to me.”

Jesus, that’s hot. I open my mouth to ask if she’s absolutely sure, but she covers it with a kiss, and I feel her tongue slip in and caress my lips. She pulls back to look at me one more time. “Peeta, you’ve been amazing. You held me when I was sad and you comforted me. But now I don’t want to be comforted, I want you. So for once in your life just shut your mouth!”

Oh God, I want to so badly, I’ve wanted to since I was old enough to know how to want her. So I say “You got it,” and grasping her under her thighs, I stand with her in my arms and carry her to the bedroom. She is busy as I walk, kissing my neck, my jaw, running her hands through my hair. It’s a miracle we make it to my room.

I lay her down on the bed and she grabs handfuls of my shirt in both hands and pulls me down on top of her. I bring my mouth to hers, and her tongue slips into my mouth, her hands knotting in my hair. I am touching her all over, my hands exploring her body. I skim the curve of her breast, her waist, down to her hip…

She arches her body up against me and pushes me over onto my back, then sits up and swings one of her long legs over my hips. She drags her t-shirt over her head and drops it on the floor and underneath… there is nothing. I am breathless; she is beautiful. More beautiful than I could ever have imagined, and I’ve imagined her naked more times than I can count.

My hands slide slowly up her thighs, grazing her small hips and up to her waist. All the while her eyes are on mine, blazing down at me. I slide my hands up to cup her breasts and she moans, pushing herself into my hands. I move my thumbs over her nipples, feeling them tighten and start to circle them slowly, slowly.

She is shuddering, leaning her head back, eyes closed, her back arched. I push myself up into a sitting position, wrapping one arm around her tiny waist and taking one of her nipples into my mouth. “Peeta,” she moans and my name on her lips, in that voice, almost makes me come right then. Her hands are in my hair and she starts to rock back and forth against the bulge in my shorts, trying to find her release.

I lift my head and flip her bodily so she is lying back against the bed. “Let me help with that,” I whisper hoarsely, and returning my mouth to her breast, I slide my hand down into her pajama pants.

Jesus. “You’re so wet,” I whisper, and slide two fingers inside her. She gasps and bucks against my hand as I slowly stroke her. She is alternately whimpering and moaning when I move my thumb over that sensitive bundle of nerves. I can feel her starting to tense as I circle my thumb faster and faster, working her nipple with my mouth, teasing her inside-

Suddenly her hands in my hair tighten involuntarily and she throws her head back, crying out my name. I touch her all the way through her orgasm until she relaxes, trembling.

She drags me up to her face by my hair, and I can feel the pressure on my scalp all the way down to my erection. She kisses me hard on the mouth.

“Better?” I ask with a grin.

“Much,” she answers shortly. “Now get naked.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

When my shirt and shorts and her pants have joined her shirt on the floor, we drink each other in. She is- oh my God, she is breathtaking and I can’t take my eyes off of her.

How many times have I dreamed of this moment, wished for it? I want to taste every part of her body, but it will have to wait, because she is pulling me down on top of her again.

“Wait,” I say breathlessly, pulling a condom out of the bedside table and rolling it on.

I’ve barely finished and she’s got her hand on me, and she swallows my gasp of pleasure with a kiss. With firm hands she directs me, one guiding my cock and the other pulling my hips towards her.

She lifts her hips to meet my thrust and I am inside her and holy fuck, it feels good.

I choke out her name raggedly and she holds me tight; I can feel her nails leaving trails of fire over my back. Her hips are rising to meet my thrusts, and she is kissing me everywhere she can reach, my neck, my jaw, my ear, my mouth. I clench my left hand in her hair, my fingers fisting at the back of her head.

“Yes, Peeta, harder!” She whispers urgently in my ear, and I comply with a moan, sliding my right hand under her hips to lift them higher. Something slides into place with this new angle and then suddenly she is arching her back off the bed again, and her body clenches around me. She is almost sobbing as she comes again, hard, and the sounds she is making combined with the pressure below bring me surging to my own climax, crying out her name.

I lower my forehead to rest against hers, both of us panting hard with the force of our pleasure. She is smiling and stretches languidly beneath me. I kiss her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose and finally, her lips.

“So, did you forget your name?” I whisper shakily.

She nods with a breathy giggle, so unlike her. “But I certainly didn’t forget yours. I’ll remember your name forever.”

I laugh and roll off her, gathering her into my chest. “Peeta Mellark, two orgasms, no waiting.”

She laughs and I can almost feel her roll her eyes as she wiggles in closer to me.

I plant another kiss on her ear, breathing in the smell of her hair. She smells of my shampoo, and sweat and Katniss. She rests her head on my arm and twines her fingers through mine, kissing the back of my hand.

Yeah, we’ve got some shit to work through, but at least we can do that together. I’ll follow her through fire if only I get to call her mine.

I wait until she drifts off to sleep and whisper it, because I just need to tell her, even if she doesn’t hear.

“I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read this story! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it! If you liked this, stay tuned for a possible Part 2!


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